


Over the Mountain, Under the Drift

by Moonsheen



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: Crippled Scholar Backstory, Domestic Fluff, F!Reader - Freeform, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Mid-Canon, Mild femslash, Missing Scene, POV Second Person, Slight Volfred/Oralech, sassy!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 18:37:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsheen/pseuds/Moonsheen
Summary: As the weather gets harsh on Mount Alodiel, the Reader finds herself strangely at liberty.





	Over the Mountain, Under the Drift

Your journey up Alodiel has met an unexpected setback. The blackwagon comes to a stop. A heavy drift of snow has blocked the Temple Highroad. Your companions disembark to assess the situation.

“Rrrrgh. We may clear it,” says Bertrude. “We have a substance for just the occasion.”

“We wish move on, not bring down the rest of the mountain,” says Jodariel. 

“So touchy, darling!” says Pamitha.

“Have you an idea?” challenges Jodariel.

“Not a one,” says Pamitha. Jodariel lets out a low growl, but Pamitha continues before she can say anything: “Though while you both make up your minds, I can fly ahead if you’d like to be sure we won’t run into another one of these later on.”

“...That will do,” allows Jodariel. Pamitha vanishes up the slope. A little while later, she returns, hair and feathers a bit disheveled from the winds. The path is clear ahead, but the snow is piling on fast. Bertrude and Jodariel continue their debate. Betrude explains the fineries of her combustion compounds. Jodariel suggests it may be safer to dig out by hand. 

“We are at an impasse,” Jodariel declares. “Let us settle this.”

"Agreed,” hisses Bertrude.

The demon turns to you, looming. While you have grown used to her appearance, the mist from her breath lends her a particular menace as she leans over you.

“Reader,” she says, “what might you suggest?”

You say that while you like Bertrude’s idea, you are concerned there might be another avalanche if you set off anything too big.

“Sso be it,” snaps the bog-crone. She slides past you. “Reading-One, come. Our spells are not meant to sit and languish. We shall make tea.”

You linger as Jodariel begins to dig into the pile of snow. It seems like a big job. 

“Go,” says the demon, around an arm full. It’s larger than your whole body. “It’s well at hand.”

“Don’t worry about Jodi dear,” says Pamitha. “I’ll help.”

“Will you,” says Jodariel. “You have no arms.”

“Moral support,” says Pamitha. “Plus, I love to watch you flex. Trudy, set a cup aside for me, will you? My feathers are terribly wet.”

You join Bertrude under the tent. The fire burns true, despite the damp conditions. She has you carry snow to her in Hedwyn’s old kettle. Her definition of tea does not match any you have ever seen brewed before, but within a few minutes, the water is boiling and the scent of herbs fills the camp.

“Try this,” says Bertrude, ladling out the liquid into a clay mug. It bubbles suspiciously. It is a deep green. After a cautious sniff and a taste, you discover it is warm and spicy. You tell Bertrude you feel better than you have in weeks. She nods grimly.

“Good,” she says, scooping out another cup. “Bring thiss to Sandalwood, and waste no time with it.”

You wonder why Bertrude will not bring it to him herself. Surely Volfred would appreciate the gesture.

“Rrrgh. It would be in poor taste on a day like this,” she says. “There iss enough on his mind. Go, now. Before we place a geas on ye instead.” 

You find Volfred in the back of the wagon, seated near one of its windows. He has a number of letters in front of them, but the ink is dry. His pen lies in the inkwell untouched. It occurs to you just then that he has been uncharacteristically quiet during the proceedings. Nevertheless, he notices when you come in. Your cane makes a distinctive clack against the boards.

“Ah, my girl,” he says. “Holding firm in the face of adversity? Or having second thoughts?” 

You remind Volfred that the only failure is to divert from the path. You hand him his tea. He smiles as his hands close around the mug, though the scent of it gives him some pause.

“...I suppose I have been a bit obvious.” He sighs, inhaling the steam deeply before placing it among his roots. His expression is at once nostalgic and a little sad. “Bertrude may have outdone herself with this one. It’s quite good. Did she test it on you?”

You admit you tried some before bringing it to him. You don’t say you were afraid it might make you break out in spots, but Volfred is a Reader like you, and senses it well enough.

“You will be fine,” assures Volfred. “It’s a medicinal tea. It’s made to warm the extremities and boost your immune system. A noxious looking thing, but quite effective. I take it from the flush in your cheeks it’s done it’s job. I grew quite fond of it during my time on the Downside. ...Though, if I’m honest, I’m amazed she found a recipe for it.”

The root resting in the cup swirls in a careful circle, and Volfred looks lost in thought. You wonder if he is feeling well. 

“Forgive me if I’ve worried you,” he says, gently. “I’m quite fine.”

You do not have to be a Reader to suspect he is not being wholly truthful. He doesn’t have to be a Reader to notice your raised eyebrow.

“Ah, but I am an open book today,” he sighs, leaning back in his chair. “No, no, nothing physical ails me. It’s simply the weather. I find snow over Alodiel has a way of summoning many memories. Some of them rather… empty. I would not burden you with them.” 

He’s not wrong. You remember the last time you climbed Mount Alodiel. You’d lost energy half way up the highroad, and Hedwyn insisted he carry you the rest of the way.  Hedwyn was liberated two cycles ago. The thought makes you ache and smile at the same time. You understand, a little bit.

You assure Volfred that you would never pry, you would be happy to spend some time with him if he’d like the company.

“Your concern is warmth enough, my girl,” he says. He seems genuinely touched by the offer, though he waves you off. “But I would make very boring company at present, and you have so little time for your own leisure. Please go dry off. Your kind is no more impervious to the cold than mine.”

And, taking that for the kind dismissal that it is, you bid Volfred a good afternoon. Jodariel refuses to let you help with the digging. Mae, Ti’zo, and Gilman are making a joint effort at cooking lunch. Bertrude refuses to take Volfred’s thanks for the tea. Tariq is nowhere to be found. You realize, all at once, that you truly are at your own leisure.

You have time for your Vocations. You take the Book of Rites off the stand. You notice the Beyonder Crystal beside it. Inside you sense vaguely the presence of Sandra, pacing aimlessly. The crystal vibrates with its typical phantasmal energy. After some thought, you pick it up along with the book. 

You return to the warmth of your bunk, change out of your wet clothes for a dry set, and set the book across your lap and the Beyonder Crystal next to you. You sense a slight questioning nature in the Crystal’s surface. You admit it seemed lonely. The Crystal seems to scoff at the notion.

The cold has made your leg hurt. It’s an old injury, but a persistent one. You can’t sit upright for too long. After a bit, you arrange yourself so that you’re on your stomach in the bunk. This position makes your neck stiff. Eventually you roll over onto your back, holding the Book of Rites over your head. You sense a dark admiration from the Beyonder Crystal, as though the Book of Rites was meant to be read by a naughty child breaking curfew.  

You pick up the Beyonder Crystal and stick it down the front of your robes. 

“....What are you doing,” says Sandra, surprised enough her voice manifests in your ear.

You tell her she seemed a bit cold. You thought you ought to give her a nice place to warm up. 

“And this is your solution,” says Sandra. 

You inform Sandra that you have read many stories that recommend this scenario. Also, you thought she might appreciate the view.

“Such a mind, my lovely reader. As though I  _ could _ ,” says Sandra, “You do remember that I am blind, don’t you? Courtesy your ever merciful Scribes.” 

Yes. You did remember this. That is why you made sure it was a snug fit. You wriggle a little, just to remind her. 

“And that I am not the only phantom thus bound,” Sandra reminds you.

Yes. You tell Sandra they should know that you’re only doing it for her.

That, it seems, renders the wraith quite speechless. There is a distinct warmth that comes from the Beyonder Crystal after that. You finish out the rest of the afternoon deep in your studies. It’s not the most productive afternoon you have ever spent with the Nightwings, but at least you’re not alone.


End file.
